"Lovely," Hermione breathed, voice barely above a whisper as Kate made it clear that her first time, or her first few attempts, were undoubtedly going to hurt. This was the type of talk that she should have been having with her own mother, Hermione thought to herself, not without a slight melancholy settling over her at the thought. Her mother, who was hopefully safe and sound in Australia, whose memories she wasn't sure if she could restore. That had been the weightiest decision of them all. A part of her had been sorely tempted to escape, to use all her means to whisk the entire family away. She could have. She could have, had she been willing to distance herself from Harry, from Ron, from the people whose families and influence spread too far to vanish without a trace. She could have spent the rest of her days growing old, wandering from city to city, always escaping the scrutiny of muggles with a flick of a wand here or there.

But she'd chosen her friends, chosen not to abandon them, chosen a path where the forgotten memories were just inevitable collateral, and at least, never lost to Hermione herself. She heaved a sigh, quiet. It didn't have anything to do with Ron, not really, yet she couldn't help the momentary loneliness that pained her, driving through her chest, leaving it hard to breathe. Fortunately— although, perhaps, not for her— Kate spoke up again then, and Hermione listened, raising an eyebrow at the end.

"I'm... sure that if we weren't supposed to like it, then a much greater portion of the human race would avoid settling down and getting married. Why would anyone say that there's something wrong with having intercourse? It's a personal decision, and... frankly, our bodies and internal chemistry are made to enjoy such activities."